


Regret

by clefairytea



Series: Peaks and Valleys Adjacent [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Clefairy's Holiday Request-fest, Hangover, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 04:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clefairytea/pseuds/clefairytea
Summary: Blue wasn’t often awake before Red. Red was usually out of bed at 5am sharp, off to do his morning training regime. He would run himself and his Pokémon ragged for two hours exactly before returning to shower, drink a protein shake, set up a percolator of coffee, and wait for Blue to stagger out of bed, whining for caffeine. There were rare exceptions, but that was usually the routine.This was one exception.Blue woke up at 4:12am with something horrible travelling from his gut to the back of his mouth, a headache that felt like a steel bar being wrapped around his skull, and a throat so dry he was sure he hadn’t seen a fluid in twenty years.Stumbling out of bed, he rushed to the ensuite, dropping to his knees and emptying what felt like the entire contents of his body into the toilet.-Blue is sick, Red is dealing with it.





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for vomiting, discussion of alcohol, discussion of boning.  
> Written on request for @pippitypopadoo on Tumblr! I am still taking requests up until Christmas, so head on down to @clefairytea on Tumblr if you'd like a goofy little gift!

Blue wasn’t often awake before Red. Red was usually out of bed at 5am sharp, off to do his morning training regime. He would run himself and his Pokémon ragged for two hours exactly before returning to shower, drink a protein shake, set up a percolator of coffee, and wait for Blue to stagger out of bed, whining for caffeine. There were rare exceptions, but that was usually the routine.

This was one exception.                                                   

Blue woke up at 4:12am with something horrible travelling from his gut to the back of his mouth, a headache that felt like a steel bar being wrapped around his skull, and a throat so dry he was sure he hadn’t seen a fluid in twenty years.

Stumbling out of bed, he rushed to the ensuite, dropping to his knees and emptying what felt like the entire contents of his body into the toilet.

Clutching the toilet seat, he breathed heavily, pushing his hair out of his face, skin unpleasantly grimy with sweat.

With a glance down, he realised he hadn’t even manged to get into his pyjamas properly. He was shirtless and underpants-less, having apparently only managed to shrug himself into a pair of Red’s pyjama pants, that sagged around him at the waist. He still had one sock on.

He had the sudden, horrible mental image of a very sober Red fighting valiantly to get him ready for bed, while a very not-sober him wiggled about, chattering incessantly and being nothing short of an active nuisance.

Groaning, he put his head in his hands.

It was Lyra’s fault.

She had come over to Alola for a visit, and Blue had just been excited to take her to his favourite places for cocktails, show off his beach (sort of. It belonged to the Battle Tree so it was _basically_ his), and generally give her the grand tour. And, as things tended to do with Lyra, things escalated.

Another mental image. Blue and Lyra drinking shots of far-too-expensive-to-be-shotted Alolan vodka, while Red looked on, with the expression of a man watching a particularly fascinating nature documentary.

He moaned and felt another wave of nausea come on, ducking his head back into the toilet.

This was horrible. Red had the right idea. Red always had the right idea, even when they were kids, and Blue was going to follow his lead. 100% teetotal, from now on.

He pressed his forehead into the cold porcelain, trying to get some relief, and then felt a hand rubbing his back.

‘Don’t look at me right now,’ Blue murmured, ‘Or smell me. Just. Generally try to forget you’ve ever witnessed me like this.’

He heard a huff – Red either sighing or laughing, maybe somewhere in between – and saw a glass of water sliding into his peripheral vision. He looked up to see Red looking at him, expression caught awkwardly between fondness and exasperation.

Ah. Another memory – Blue taking deep _mortal offense_ at Red being too much of a gentleman to want to bone down with a man too drunk to take his socks off properly. He looked up and, catching Red’s amused expression, mortification bloomed more and more in his chest. Red was clearly thinking about _exactly the same thing_.

‘I’m _so_ sorry,’ he said, accepting the water. Red merely rubbed another comforting circle into his back. It felt nice. For a guy who didn’t like to touch people if he could help it, Red was surprisingly good at these kinds of things.

‘I guess if you’re happy to do this for a weird old guy on a boat, you’re willing to do it for your dumbass boyfriend,’ Blue muttered, taking a sip of his water. He’d even put _ice_ in it. The bastard. The thoughtful bastard. Red shrugged, and then gestured at the toilet.

‘Hm? Am I done? Think so, yeah.’

Red gestured at his stomach.

‘Eat? Oh, no, no, absolutely not,’ he said, nauseous again at the thought. He sucked down more water and let his cheek rest on Red’s shoulder.

‘I’m going to die,’ he announced. Red nodded solemnly, patting him on the head.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, revealing Lyra, looking like something that had been dug up from an ancient grave and stuffed into a tacky sparkly pantsuit. Red sighed – surprisingly loudly for him.

‘Room for one more?’ she croaked. It was unsurprising her voice was gone, the amount of shrieking she (and Blue, if he was _entirely_ honest with himself) had done last night. Blue could only hope they had not done anything embarrassing enough to land themselves into the tabloids.

Blue was briefly tempted to tell Lyra where to go and to use the other bathroom, but then again that would involve more cleaning for them (…well, their maid) later.

‘Yeah, sure, knock yourself out. I’m going back to bed for a couple more hours,’ he said, putting a hand on Red’s shoulder to pull himself to his feet, ‘You can go do your morning training, babe.’

‘Babe?’ Lyra snorted, somehow managing to mock him even with her face in an actual toilet. Blue was far too exhausted and frazzled to tell her where she could shove it. If he was honest, he never called Red stuff like that anyway. He was just pretty sure he was on a different plane of reality in that moment, and would say anything that might get him back to bed faster.

‘Don’t fuss, I’m fine,’ he whined, as Red insisted on steadying him back into bed. He fell back into the pillows, head thumping. Sylveon let out a trill of disdain as he almost crushed her, but he could barely even murmur out an apology as he closed his eyes.

He dozed off to the sound of Lyra barfing into his toilet, and the considerably more comforting sensation of Red easing the covers back over him.

Later, Blue awoke to the smell of coffee from the kitchen, and a neatly stacked pile of painkillers on his bedside table.

**Author's Note:**

> a) [In my head, Blue's drunken wriggling looks sort of like this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngKGPzZRcP8)  
> b) Giving this such a melodramatic title really cracked me up.


End file.
